These Scars Burn Like Fire
by Hippomatrix
Summary: Zuko hasn't been happy for a long time, and he can't manage it anymore. But when he tries to end his life, a passerby (Sokka) pulls him off the edge of the bridge and takes him home to make sure he's okay. Zuko's a long way from okay, but with the help of Sokka and his therapist sister, maybe he can get closer to being there. (Possible Trigger Warning for some chapters)(on hiatus)
1. Looking Back is Painful

Zuko looked down at the water, imagining how cold it must be.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to no one in particular. He couldn't have said exactly what it was he was sorry for, but he was sorry. If he'd been religious he would've been praying for forgiveness for what he was about to do, but he wasn't. He'd stopped believing in god a long time ago. No, he wouldn't ask for forgiveness. This was something he should have done a long time ago.

Zuko gripped the rail of the bridge so tight that his knuckles turned white. He wasn't crying. He almost never cried anymore.

"I just can't. I can't do this anymore."

* * *

Sokka looked out his car window at the water. There was someone standing on the edge of the bridge, and they looked like they were about to jump.

He stopped his car abruptly and got out, fully aware that if a car came up behind his they would have to wait for him to start again before continuing down the bridge. He felt sorry for the inconvenience, but the life of this person was more important.

Sokka reached the man just as he started to swing himself onto the other side of the bridge and into the water. He grabbed the man from behind and pulled him off the edge. The man fought against him, but Sokka wouldn't let go.

"Are you crazy?! Get away from there! Whatever's wrong, killing yourself is not the solution!"

* * *

Zuko laughed softly, and Sokka looked over at him. He was sitting in the passenger seat of Sokka's car, his legs pulled up to his chest.

"What's so funny? You just tried to kill yourself!"

"Today's my birthday."

Sokka looked away. There was something about the way Zuko said that that made him very sad.

Zuko continued, sounding deceptively calm. His voice clashed with his near-hysteric expression. "I promised myself... that I would be done with this by today. That I'd be better, stronger. That I would fix everything. But I couldn't. That's why... why..."

Sokka stayed silent. He didn't want to interrupt what was clearly something Zuko needed to express.

"I promised myself... five years ago, when I was fifteen. I ran away because my father... hurt people. He hurt people. He hurt my mother. Before I left she stopped talking. She stared into space and stopped trying to fight back. And my sister... she tried to be better than my father but she couldn't. She didn't know how else to act, all she'd seen was his example. I couldn't stay there, and I couldn't help either of them, so I left."

Zuko stared out the window into the night for a few minutes. The next part of his story was still fresh, and it hurt more to say.

"When I finally went back, I found out that my father had been sent to prison for twenty years. I couldn't find my sister. I hope she escaped and made a better life for herself, but she most likely just took up my father's old drug business. My mother had died a couple months after I first left. She hung herself. She hung herself, and if I had stayed, maybe I could've saved her. Maybe I could've helped her escape my father."

Sokka awkwardly patted Zuko on the shoulder, not quite sure what to say.

"That's rough, buddy."


	2. Going to Sleep is Overwhelming

"So here's what's going to happen. You're staying here tonight so I can keep an eye on you, and in the morning you're going to go see my sister. She's a therapist, so she'll know more about how to help you then I do. You can sleep on the couch and borrow any clothes you need."

Zuko ran his fingers through his hair, stressed from all that had been going on. This was why he didn't tell people how he felt. They made such a big deal about it.

"I have an apartment, you know. I don't need you to take care of me. I barely know you."

Sokka tossed Zuko a blanket to sleep with.

"That may be true, but I'm still worried about you. And don't tell me you're fine, you're clearly not."

Sokka eyed the darkness ringing Zuko's eyes.

"Now I'll leave you alone so you can sleep. You look tired, maybe it will help you feel better."

Zuko almost laughed.

"That's not going to happen."

"What do you mean? Of course I'll leave you alone."

Zuko shook his head.

"No, the sleeping part. I can't do it."

Sokka raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like to sleep?"

"I love to sleep, I just don't like _going_ to sleep."

Sokka didn't get it.

Zuko sighed. No one ever understood why he didn't get enough sleep.

"When I'm trying to go to sleep I can't stop thinking and feeling. The rest of the time I can more or less control it, but when I'm just laying there in the dark trying to go to sleep... it's overwhelming."

Sokka didn't quite understand what Zuko was talking about, but he was going to try and help anyways. He sat down next to Zuko and switched on the TV.

"So, what do you want to watch?"


	3. Scars Don't Dissapear

Sokka poked Zuko's face.

"Time to get up. Your appointment is in half an hour."

Zuko groaned and sat up on the couch, pushing the blanket off of him.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Well, it's 9:30 now and you fell asleep around 1:00, so... eight and a half hours."

Zuko nodded.

"That's pretty good."

"But now you're awake and you need to get ready."

Sokka eyed Zuko's slept-in clothes.

"Do you need to borrow any clothes?"

Zuko rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Depends. What do you have?"

Sokka gestured for Zuko to follow him into his room and opened two drawers, one with pants and one with shirts.

Zuko pulled a pair of pants from the drawer randomly, then began to search through the shirt drawer. He looked through Sokka's shirts, but they were all short sleeved.

"Don't you have any long sleeved shirts?

"No. Why?"

Zuko turned away and headed for the bathroom.

"Never mind. I'll borrow these pants, but I'll re-wear my shirt."

Sokka shrugged. Maybe Zuko just got cold easily.

* * *

"Zuko, this is my sister, Katara. I've signed you up for daily sessions with her for a week. If she thinks this is helping you, I'll sign you up for more."

Zuko awkwardly shook Katara's hand. He didn't know for sure how much Sokka had told her, but he was pretty sure she knew he'd tried to kill himself.

"I'll pick you up in an hour."

Zuko almost called out for Sokka to wait, to take him somewhere else, but Sokka was already walking out the door.

He looked back at Sokka's sister. She looked nice, he just wasn't sure if he was comfortable with having a therapist.

Katara smiled reassuringly.

"It's alright to be nervous. I understand how hard it can be to open up to someone, especially someone you just met. Just try and remember that this is to help you. Why don't you follow me into my office so we can talk about why you're here and ways to help you."

* * *

Zuko sat uncomfortably on the couch, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve to dispel his nervousness at being scrutinized.

Katara watched his leg jog up and down and his hands fidget.

"Do you get anxiety often?"

Zuko didn't answer, but he forced himself to stop fidgeting, making a conscious effort to keep his hands and leg still.

Katara looked at his left arm where his sleeve had been pushed up slightly from his fidgeting. She could see the pink lines etched across his pale skin.

Zuko noticed her looking at his arm and hastily pulled the edge of his his sleeve back down.

"What happened to your arm?" Katara asked, already knowing the answer but wanting to see how Zuko would respond.

"Nothing," he lied.

She looked at him and shook her head.

"Why are you lying to me?"

Zuko looked down at his arms. He always wore long sleeved shirts to cover them up. He always hid them.

"Because... every time people see the scars... they look at me differently. They pity me."

"What's wrong with pity?"

"It proves that there's something wrong with me, which I don't need to have proven to me."

"Can I see the scars?"

Zuko looked up at her. She didn't sound curious or questioning in the way people usually did. She just sounded like it was something she thought would help her understand him.

He hesitated, then tugged his sleeves up to his elbows. Pink scars were etched over the front of his forearms in no particular pattern. Some were older and had faded to a lighter color, and some were more recent and still a darker pink.

"And when was the last time you hurt yourself like this?"

Zuko thought about it.

"Couple weeks ago, maybe. It mostly happens when I'm at my worst."

Katara studied his scars. She couldn't easily count how many there were.

"That's a lot of incidences of you being at your worst."

Zuko pulled his sleeves back down, avoiding looking her in the eyes.

"I guess."

"Have you ever tried to stop?"

Zuko nodded.

"I know it's bad for me, and I know that the scars don't go away, but it's hard to stop. Sometimes when people see them it makes me wish even more that I'd never started, and at the same time I get so upset I want to cut, but I also don't want to because then they'll be even more noticeable. They fade after a while, but they never disappear completely."

Katara nodded.

"I have a suggestion if you're interested. There's this thing called the butterfly project that is helpful for some people. What you do is you draw a butterfly on the area that you usually hurt instead of cutting. If you cut, the butterfly dies, and if you don't, it lives."

Zuko shook his head.

"That sounds nice and all, but I'm not into butterflies."

"Well, what makes you happy? What calms you down when you're upset?"

Zuko thought for a second.

"I like to watch fire in a fireplace."

He smiled sadly, remembering.

"My mother and I used to watch the fireplace together sometimes at night when my father left the house."

Katara smiled.

"Next time you feel the urge to cut, I want you try drawing flame patterns on your arms instead. And remember, even if you still cut, that doesn't mean you have to be ashamed. We all have something we do to make ourselves feel okay, and with time, maybe you can find another, more healthy way."


	4. We Will Survive

"So how did you get here? How did you get to a point in your life when everything felt so bad that suicide seemed like the answer?"

"I don't know. I guess it's always been like this, just usually at a lower level."

Katara leaned forward slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I've always had this sort of darkness inside weighing me down. It's harder to be happy than it should be."

"Would you say that you're depressed?"

Zuko nodded.

"Do any of your family members suffer from mental illness or depression?"

"I think my mother might have. Around the time I left home she stopped talking. She would just sit there and stare into nothingness, like it hurt to much to be in this world. She stopped trying to defend herself against my father. She just stood there and let him hit her."

"Did you leave home because of your father's abusive behavior?"

Zuko nodded.

"He hurt us. Oftentimes he would come home high or drunk from his so called work and he was always so angry. He took it out on us."

"What was his work?"

Zuko grimaced.

"Drugs. Producing them, selling them, whatever."

"What happened when you ran away?"

Zuko leaned back.

"Within a month of running away someone caught me sleeping in an alley, and since I was only 15 and refused to go back home, I was sent to child protection services. They realized pretty quickly that my home wasn't a healthy place to live. I got put into foster care with a family that was nice enough, but never really felt like it was mine."

"Are you still in contact with them?"

Zuko shook his head.

"No, not really. I get the occasional New Year's card, but that's it."

"Any other family members?"

"My sister, Azula, but I haven't seen her since I ran away. I couldn't find her."

"Do you have a job?"

Zuko nodded.

"Yeah, I'm a receptionist for a dentist. Not the most exciting job, but it pays the bills."

"So what do you do when you feel like this at work?"

Zuko shrugged.

"I do what I need to do, and I save some extra sick days for when I really need them."

* * *

"So tomorrow I'll drive you to work and then to your appointment later. Here, let me see your phone, I'll put my number in so you can call me if you need something."

Zuko passed his phone to Sokka.

"Why are you doing all this? Why are you helping me? I'm just some guy you pulled off the edge of a bridge. You don't need to do any of this."

"I know," Sokka said, handing Zuko's phone back. "But I want to help. I can see that you're a good person, and I think if you let us help you, you'll be able to see that too. So stop trying to give up on yourself."

"But I've never done anything extraordinary in my life."

"Of course you have. You've survived."


	5. Faking Happiness Will Hurt Everyone

"I think I'm ready to go back to my own apartment."

Sokka looked over at Zuko, switching the TV off.

"You think so?"

Zuko smiled, doing his best to make it seem genuine.

"Yeah. I'm feeling better."

* * *

Katara peeked into the waiting room again. Zuko still wasn't here. He was 20 minutes late and it worried her. He didn't seem like the type of person to be late. He'd been right on time the whole week, and now this? It didn't seem right. She decided to call Sokka and see if he knew why Zuko was late.

Sokka picked up on the second ring.

"What's up sis?"

"Do you know where Zuko is? His appointment is supposed to be right now, but he hasn't shown up."

"No idea. He went back to his apartment this morning. Said he was feeling better."

Katara had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on, but she needed more information.

"How was he acting before he left?"

"He seemed happy."

Katara didn't respond.

"...Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes," Katara said. "That's a bad thing. Sudden switches from sad to happy either mean someone's trying to fool people into thinking they're fine, or they have a plan that will make them... no longer feel sad. Let's hope it's just the first one. I want you to call to check up on him and see if you can figure out what's going on, then call me back."

* * *

"Hello?"

"Hey Zuko. It's me, Sokka. Just checking how you're doing. Did you make it to your appointment okay?"

"Yeah," Zuko lied. "I think it's really making a difference."

"Okay," Sokka said, pretending to believe what he knew to be a lie. "Well, I gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow. Bye."

"Bye," Zuko replied, ending the call.

He slumped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. A wave of sorrow washed over him, a familiar feeling that had been somewhat contained around Katara and Sokka. He felt bad for lying to Sokka and not showing up for his appointment with Katara, but it seemed to him that they were better off without him. He was making their lives harder, more difficult. And despite all the times he'd wished he could be free of this depression, it was difficult to try and get better. He was so used to it, he felt strange without its constant presence. It was so much easier to go back to how it had been before, even though it had been worse. It may not have been good for him, but its familiarity was comforting in a screwed up way.


	6. Hearts Break but They can Also be Healed

**A/N: Possible Trigger Warning for the end of this chapter**

* * *

Over the next couple of days, as Zuko continued to miss his appointments, Katara grew increasingly worried.

She had Sokka call him a few more times over the next couple of days, but Zuko ignored the calls.

She called the office where he worked and asked if he had shown up the past few days. He hadn't.

* * *

Zuko lay listlessly on his bed, fingers fiddling with an abandoned penny he'd found in his sofa cushions a few weeks ago.

He couldn't bring himself to do much of anything. As the saying went, "What goes up, must come down."

 _And stay down_ , he thought to himself.

It seemed like whenever he was exceedingly happy he would inevitably crash later. His mood would drop to a major low instead of staying at that happy level. Happiness just wasn't sustainable. It didn't last. Nothing ever lasted. Everything ended. Unhappiness was inevitable.

He heard his phone ringing again, but he didn't bother to pick it up from where it sat on his dresser. It was probably Sokka calling him again. He had stopped answering after Sokka's first call, but he kept getting the messages. But when the ringing ended and the message started, it wasn't Sokka. It was Katara. And she sounded really upset.

"Hey, Zuko. It's me, Katara. We're worried about you. You haven't been showing up, and we want to help you get better, and if you don't, we can't do that. I don't know what's going on, but I need to know if you're-"

He reached out and turned off his phone. Why did Katara have to call? He could deal with a little worry from Sokka. Sokka didn't know all the stuff Katara knew about him, so he wouldn't worry as much. But now Katara was worried, too. They were both worried, despite his efforts to leave and save them the bother of taking care of him.

He'd made everything worse. Everything. How did he always manage to screw things up? Why was he such a burden on those who tried to help?

Suddenly, everything hurt. It hurt so much, and he wished he could cry. Crying would at least partially relieve this pain. It could maybe even make him feel better. But he couldn't. He wasn't able to. He couldn't cry anymore.

Zuko dug his fingernails into his arms, trying to distract himself from the mounting pain inside of him, but it wasn't enough.

* * *

Katara knocked on Zuko's door, but he didn't answer.

One of his neighbors walked past, and she asked them if they'd seen Zuko enter or exit his house in the past few days. They hadn't.

Katara knocked several more times, and when he didn't answer, she circled around the building, looking for an open window. She found a window leading to his kitchen that was partially open and pushed it all the way up so she could get inside, silently apologizing to Zuko for invading his privacy like this.

She called out Zuko's name, but he didn't answer, so she made her way to his bedroom. She could see his phone lying abandoned on his bed, and his discarded shirt outside the bathroom door, which was closed.

Katara knocked on the door.

"Zuko, are you in there?"

He didn't answer, but she could see the light under the door. The only light on in the house. He was in there.

"Zuko, I'm going to come in."

As she opened the door, she prayed that she wasn't walking in on an attempted or ...completed suicide.

She assessed this situation and figured out he wasn't trying to kill himself, thank god, but what he was doing was still horrible. He was draped over the edge of his bathtub, his arms dripping blood from fresh cuts into the tub and onto the tiles underneath him.

He looked up at her, razor still pressed to his arm, a bead of blood welling up underneath it, and he seemed to break. He started to cry upon her seeing him in this state, something he'd told her he hadn't been capable of doing in a long time.

Katara looked at the man before her, the one she'd gotten to know so much about over the last week. She could see who he'd been as a runaway teenager feeling unloved and scared, and she could see who he was now, still feeling the same. He felt broken, and maybe he was.

It broke her heart to see him this way, and when he covered his face to hide himself, his razor dropping to the floor, all at once she needed him to know that she cared, that he _wasn't_ alone and unwanted. She knelt next to him on the floor and pulled his hands away from his face, wiping at the still streaming tears. She smiled hesitantly, and the way he looked at her smile, as if he'd never thought he'd see it aimed at him, it hurt so much. She picked up the razor he'd dropped and set it on the edge of the tub.

"It's going to get better," she whispered, pulling a towel from the rack and blotting at his arms with it. She looked up, and she could tell he didn't believe her. She smiled comfortingly again. "Maybe not now, and maybe not soon, but I promise you it will eventually. And until then, I'll be right here."

She wrapped her arms around him, ignoring the bloodstains his arms left on her as he held on to her, clinging to this comfort he'd needed so badly. She cradled him against herself as he cried against her shoulder, holding him close.

"It's going to be okay," she murmured. "It's going to be okay."

* * *

 **A/N: I in no way condone The self destructive and suicidal behavior depicted in this story. If you or someone you know are struggling with similar behavior or depression, I recommend seeking treatment, and therapy can also be very helpful. I myself have only self harmed twice, but my intrusive thoughts make me want to do it more. If you think I'm depicting it inaccurately, or you just really need someone to talk to, feel free to message me. I myself struggle with Major Depressive Disorder, and as I said before, therapy can be very helpful. Never underestimate how beneficial the help of others can be.**

 **I'll put a couple of numbers you can call here, in case anyone needs them**

 **Depression Hotline:** 1-630-482-9696  
 **Suicide Hotline:** 1-800-784-8433  
 **Eating Disorders Hotline:** 1-847-831-3438  
 **Rape and Sexual Assault:** 1-800-656-4673  
 **Runaway:** 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000


	7. Properly Treated Cuts will Heal Faster

Zuko shifted in the unfamiliar bed, taking in his surroundings. He was in Sokka's room. It was messy, but at least it was familiar. Katara was slumped in a chair next to the bed, fast asleep. She was wearing the same clothes, and he could see some of the blood stains he'd left on her, now dried into them. She must've stayed with him all night.

The night before was kind of a blur. After getting him to calm down enough to treat his cuts, she had cleaned them with cold water and wrapped his arms up until she could do a better job. Then she had taken him outside to her car and driven him to Sokka's apartment. Being a construction worker who was somewhat prone to accidents, Sokka had known enough about cuts to treat Zuko's, putting antibacterial cream on them and making sure they were properly dressed.

Zuko looked closer at his arms. Most of the new cuts were shallow enough that they just had band-aids, but several had been deep enough to need skin glue. They still hurt, but he was used to it, and in a way, the pain was comforting. It reassured him that he was alive.

He chided himself at that thought. No, he shouldn't be trying to find reasons it was good. It was bad. Hurting himself was bad. He glanced at Katara. Trying to get help was good. Finding people who cared was good.

* * *

"So what we want is for you to move in with Sokka. You can be roommates."

Zuko swirled the cereal around in his bowl, not meeting their eyes. "And you think that will help?"

Katara nodded.

"That way we can keep an eye on you, make sure you're okay."

Zuko didn't answer.

"Zuko?"

He looked up. "I'm..." He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry. I'm a burden on you and I'm making everything hard."

"No, no you're not. We're helping because we care about you, because that's what friends do. We want to help."

"Yeah, plus I need a roommate anyways. It'd be nice to have someone help with rent," Sokka added through a mouth full of toast.

Katara got up, pushing in her chair. "I have to go now, because I have an appointment soon, but I'll see you later?"

She looked pointedly at Zuko. He nodded. He'd show up. He wouldn't miss another appointment.

"And call in to work, use some of your sick days for the time you missed. You don't want to get fired."


End file.
